


Spring Brings Out the Animal In You

by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And He Knows It, Derek Hale is a Softie, Future Fic, Getting Together, Happy Sex, Haze Fic, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, One Shot, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Slice of Life, Stiles Stilinski is a Flirt, Stiles has Seasons, Stiles isn't a supernatural creature, lots of allusions to moons, stupidly mushing/poetic dialogue at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Asterekmess
Summary: Stiles changes with the seasons, waxing and waning, becoming a different version of himself in the summer, fall, winter, and spring. Derek learns them all by heart.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 29
Kudos: 396
Collections: Sterek the good stuff





	Spring Brings Out the Animal In You

**Author's Note:**

> Another Haze fic, from when I went off my meds (involuntarily) for a week. That's all it took for me to sit down in a haze (hence the name) and write for like 5 hours while completely unaware of what the hell I was doing. By the time I finished I had no clue what I'd just written, so I sent it off to my Beta to make her figure it out. Now it's your turn.
> 
> It got weirdly like, on the edge of something supernatural? Like I didn't intend it, but then it just sort of started looking that way? I have no control over my writing these days.

Stiles changed in the spring, Derek noticed. He thought it said a lot that he’d been around—that they’d _all_ been around, really—long enough for him to notice the pattern. Somehow they were surviving, getting through the days and dealing with the things that went bump in Beacon Hills. There were entire months where nothing happened except life.

Derek remembered a few years ago, when Stiles and Scott were still teenagers and Matt had Jackson out killing people every week. In the sheriff’s station, Stiles had made an offhand joke about being an abominable snowman, how it was just a seasonal thing. At the time, Derek had been furious that Stiles was antagonizing a serial killer.

Now, he thought about that line every single spring, because honestly, Stiles did seem to be seasonal.

He was still human, still painfully, excruciatingly, human. He injured far easier than the rest of them, and still jumped in the way of whatever he could to keep the pack safe. But, like some kind of annoying flower, or wild animal, he changed with the seasons.

— 

In summer, Stiles was energetic. The hotter the weather, the more excited he got, bouncing around on his toes and begging someone to go for a run with him or play a game of lacrosse. He was devastated the first time Scott said no.

“But you’re my training buddy! We do this every summer,” he spluttered, already wearing his pads and holding his crosse. “You can’t bail on me!”

Scott sank down in his own little puddle of sweat on the front porch of the Hale house and moaned, “Noooo…it’s too hot, Stiles.”

Stiles scoffed so hard it sounded like he pulled something. “Come on, it’s not that hot! It was hotter than this last year, and you didn’t have a problem then.”

“He’s a wolf, now, Stiles. We already run hotter than the average human. Summer is hard,” Derek explained. He had the dignity to not be laying on his back in the meager shade, but it was a near thing.

Glaring daggers at the lot of them, Stiles threw his crosse on the ground and began to yank off his pads. Once he was down to his t-shirt and workout shorts, he walked away.

Suddenly suspicious of Stiles’ acceptance, Derek called out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m bored. I’m going to occupy myself!” Stiles yelled over his shoulder.

Scott shot up from his position, sweaty hair stuck up in spikes. “Stiles, no! Your dad will kill me if you fall out of another tree!”

Even from the edge of the trees, Derek could see Stiles’ shrug. He continued to stomp away, and Scott looked ready to throw a tantrum at the thought of needing to go after him.

Rather than let Scott work himself into a frenzy, Derek stood up and peeled off his shirt. It was nearly soaked with sweat anyway. “I got him.”

Instantly, Scott drooped down to the scorching wooden floorboards and went back to playing the slowest game of violent footsie in the world with Isaac, kicking each other slowly, but with force.

Derek wasn’t lying about summers being hard on werewolves. His muscles felt like taffy, stretching far too slowly and holding him back like he was trying to walk through syrup. Still, it wouldn’t do to let Stiles get himself hurt just because he was bored. Getting up the effort to jog and ignoring the snap of dry twigs under his bare feet, he caught up to Stiles’ side and swatted him gently upside the head. He was too tired for anything more. “Let’s go then.”

Stiles lit up like the sun that was baking Derek’s skin dry. “We’re going for a run?” He whooped jubilantly. “Come on, I know a great trail.”

There wasn’t an animal track in the Preserve that Derek didn’t know about, but he let Stiles choose their direction and followed at a pace far slower than his usual. How was Stiles immune to the dreamlike inability to move more than a mile an hour? He looked like he was vibrating as he picked up speed, and for the first time, Derek was a little worried he’d be outrun by a human.

With way too much effort, Derek managed to keep up. At least Stiles was still as clumsy as usual, tripping over a couple logs and bouncing back to his feet like a knick knack. As Stiles settled, he began to laugh, swinging his head around to stare at the trees, then the sky, then Derek himself. His eyes were wide and bright and his smile was huge.

“This way!” he shouted, veering off away from Derek and disappearing into the bushes.

Somehow, in following Stiles, Derek had forgotten to pay attention to where they were. He’d just assumed Stiles would know the way. Now, he looked around and recalibrated his position. If Stiles was headed where he thought…

A loud whoop shocked Derek into a proper run. “Stiles?” he shouted.

Laughter reached his ears at the same time as he pushed through the last of the bush boundary. Stiles was in the river, fully clothed except for the shoes and socks laying on the shore, popping in and out of the water like a fish. “Come on! You know you want to.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek took a running jump off a familiar rock and hit the water with a splash. For a moment his body tensed, shocked to the core by the freezing, yet gentle current. It was like being electrocuted: all his lethargy disappeared. Still under the surface, Derek swam down to the riverbed and worked his way over to the pair of pale legs whose toes were buried in the muck. He swiped out at Stiles’ calves, pulling him under and wrestling him over to the more shallow bank. As his head broke the surface, he swung his hair backward and laughed hard at the murder in Stiles’ eyes.

It took a single second for Stiles’ energy to shift back to that of an excited puppy.

Something about Stiles’ mood was severely contagious, because while the adult part of Derek’s mind insisted they get back to check on the Betas, it was appropriately drowned out by the sheer joy of playing in the waves. Derek snarled through a grin when a spray of water hit him in the face and chased Stiles back to the deep water, forcing him to make long strokes backward until his feet couldn’t keep up and Stiles began to float. Diving forward, Derek knocked Stiles back down and put him in a headlock, ruffling his short hair while Stiles cackled.

He wasn’t sure how long they played, but Stiles’ lips were nearly blue by the time they dragged themselves back to shore. Without a second thought, Stiles collapsed in a soggy pile onto the same boulder Derek had jumped from and promptly fell asleep, basking in the sun like a snake.

When Derek dropped onto the other side of the nearly burning hot rock, he could finally feel the heat the way he assumed Stiles was feeling it. Rather than stripping him of energy, Derek felt full to the brim with warm electricity. Even the unforgiving stone beneath his head felt comfortable as a down pillow at the moment, and Derek only tipped his head to the side for a second before slipping into a nap of his own.

They woke up dry and Derek couldn’t bring himself to scowl even once until they got back to the house and Jackson wrinkled his nose at them.

“You guys smell like fish.”

—

In the fall, Stiles was on edge. Still, so much energy, but now it had a bite to it. He went for more runs, but for the simple reason of needing to keep from exploding out of his skin, no fun involved. Autumn was a time for Stiles to get in fights, to bicker and snipe at his dad and Scott. He played rough with the Betas until Derek was sure someone would lose their temper and hurt him.

The only logical response was for Derek to take over. He knew he had better control than the rest, when he really needed it. And Stiles needed it.

While the rest of the Betas escaped indoors for video games and junk food, Derek didn’t so much walk Stiles through a training exercise as he did get jumped. Stiles used the first hit Derek tried to land as a bridge to latch onto him. Immediately, Derek had to struggle not to get thrown to his back. Every headlock or arm twist he put Stiles in, Stiles somehow managed to wriggle out of. He dealt plenty of sneaky blows back and put him in pretzel shapes that Derek could only force his way free from.

As he tried to get Stiles to stop dodging and weaving all over the place, Derek let up on the reins just the tiniest bit, enough to actually pin Stiles to the dirt by his wrists.

“Why are you so riled up all the time?” he panted into Stiles face.

Something about Stiles just oozed frustration and anxiety the entire season, and Derek didn’t know if he was forgetting something about Stiles’ life that would explain it. Nothing bad he could remember had happened in the fall. Hell, Stiles’ birthday was in October.

Baring his teeth like a cornered wolf, Stiles bit out, “I don’t _know_.” Then, his legs squeezed tight to Derek’s hips and rolled them both to the side, so Stiles was on top. “You lose. Try again.”

Huffing, Derek let Stiles jump backward and stood up, brushing himself off before getting into starting position. “Again.”

Occasionally, Stiles’ snippiness worked in their favor. He was as protective as a mother with her pups, and the instant he felt one of the Betas was being threatened, he lashed out. Sometimes, it meant ripping someone too handsy a new one at a rave; others, it meant single-handedly taking out an entire—albeit small—clan of hunters that got their hands on Erica and Isaac. Derek had only shown up in time to see the aftermath, to drag Stiles away from the last person he was beating to death and wrestle him into the shower stall at the pack house, where he could decompress under the freezing water.

He fell asleep to escape the sheer migraine of smells that Stiles was throwing out, and woke up to Stiles shouting his head off about protocols and safety.

“How _dare_ you put yourselves in danger like that,” Stiles cried, his voice cutting through the walls of the house like blades of fear. “What am I supposed to do, huh? What am I supposed to do if you get hurt? If you die? What would Derek do?”

Derek bolted down the steps to find not just Erica and Isaac, but Scott and Jackson and Boyd all nearly cowering in the face of Stiles’ fury. He reached out and yanked on Stiles’ arm, then nearly growled when Stiles scratched at his wrist to get him to let go so he could return to screaming. “They’re gonna kill themselves!” he shouted, then in a fit of inspiration, he turned his anger on Derek. “And what about you?”

Keeping his face carefully blank, Derek took a step back and let Stiles crowd into the space he left between them.

“No, don’t walk away! What will you do? If one of them dies? If they get hurt? And what do you expect us to do if you get hurt? If you die? You and your stupid martyring.” Stiles stalked forward, matching every step Derek took back until they’d gotten all the way into the kitchen.

Once they were out of sight of the Betas, Derek relaxed. “Stiles, they’re not gonna die.”

“You don’t know that!” Stiles screamed. He shoved at Derek’s shoulders, pushing him up against the counter. “You don’t know!”

Derek didn’t blink. “They’re not gonna die. We won’t let them.”

Stiles shoved his fingers into his own hair and yanked a few times, then stepped back, nodding. “Let’s go. Train me.”

It was easier to let Stiles exhaust himself through exercise and watch him drive home, before going back inside to reassure the Betas that were still piled together on the couches. Erica especially, looked like the rug had been pulled out from under her. “How could he do all that for us, and then just shout? I don’t get it.”

“We scared him,” Scott said, twiddling his fingers. “We shouldn’t have done that, especially not this time of year.”

Latching onto the prospect of answers, Derek asked, “Why not this time of year?”

Scott shrugged. “Because Stiles gets anxious in the fall. It’s like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong. He’s been like that for years.”

As the implications became clear, Derek nodded. “Since his mom died.”

“Oh, no!” Scott argued, straightening in his seat. “Since forever. He’s always been like this. He just sort of, he’s different in every season. It’s like having four different Stiles’. He’s never boring.”

“If Stiles is different in every season, then what’s he like in the winter?” Derek asked.

—

The answer, was melancholic. Winter seemed to drain something from Stiles, his will or his joy or his entire soul. On good days, he was just quiet, wearing a half a dozen layers of clothing and blankets, content to sit and play videogames the entire day.

“Tea?” Derek asked, interrupting the pack’s old school gaming marathon.

It was Stiles’ turn to play Super Mario Bros, and he hit pause just to turn and smile softly at Derek. “Yeah, thanks. Chamomile, if you have it?”

Stiles’ seasonal patience was apparently a virtue, because by the time Derek got back with a sweetened mug of tea for Stiles, two cocoas for Erica and Boyd, and two cups of coffee for himself and Isaac, Stiles was still on his first life. He paused the game again to take the mug and sip carefully, then smiled once more, gentle as silk. “It’s great, thanks.”

Anger, Derek could deal with. Energy, too. But the bad days of winter, where Stiles’ eyes glittered with tears for as long as he was awake, when he had to be dragged from bed just to go to the movies with the pack. When nearly any conversation with him, if he could be made to speak at all, went down an existentially morbid road. It scared Derek more than he could bear to admit, so he went to the only other person who might have an explanation.

There was never going to be a good opportunity for Derek to show up on Stiles’ front doorstep, so he picked one that was slightly above bad, when Stiles himself wasn’t home. He knocked on the door, listening to heavy steps make their way toward him.

The sheriff didn’t look too much worse for wear, but he also didn’t look happy to have Derek in front of him. He was “in the know” as Stiles put it, but he didn’t particularly want to know any more than he had to unless Stiles was in danger. Speaking of.

“I just came to ask you something about Stiles,” Derek said, hoping it was at least a little reassuring. Being a previous fugitive, he wasn’t exactly high on the sheriff’s list of favorite people.

“What is it? What’d he do? Is he hurt?” the sheriff asked, brow furrowing sharply.

“No, he’s fine!” Derek held his hands up, half feeling like he needed to prove his own innocence. “At least, I think he is. I’m just…I need to ask you something about him.”

Sighing, the sheriff stepped back and gestured Derek inward. For a moment, Derek pictured Stiles, the one he remembered meeting, making a joke about Derek needing permission to enter like a vampire.

Once he’d been led into a cozy living room, with one couch and one armchair, Derek spit out what he came there to spit out. “Is he depressed?”

That actually pulled a chuckle from the sheriff. “Should’ve known one of you would come asking about that. You wanna know about Stiles’ seasons.”

Dubious, Derek couldn’t help the tone of his voice. “His _seasons_?”

Dropping down into the armchair, the sheriff snagged a glass bottle from the side table and popped the cap off. Derek sniffed on instinct, and came up with carbonation and sugar. He frowned at the bottle.

Surprisingly intuitive, possibly the source of Stiles’ own ability to read between the lines, the sheriff tipped the drink toward Derek. “Root beer. Stiles hates it when I drink. This has the same sense memory as a beer bottle, without disappointing my kid.” Then, he sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “You might as well get comfortable, son.”

Something about the sheriff’s tone of voice rendered Derek incapable of disobeying, so he sank into the overstuffed cushions of the couch. “He doesn’t talk, barely eats. He always looks on the verge of tears. And Scott said something a few months ago, about him being anxious in the fall, but it’s like he’s ready to blow up any time. And the summer, he can’t calm down even a little. I was born a wolf and I can barely keep up with him.”

The sheriff winced at Derek’s mention of the supernatural, but took a sip of his drink. “He’s not depressed. Trust me, I had him checked about a dozen times.”

“Is it about his—” Derek froze, but the sheriff seemed to get where he was going.

“No, son. It’s not his mom. Stiles has been like this since he was born. I tell you, it scared the hell out of us when he was a baby, the way he just stopped being this fiery, furious newborn and went damn near mute till spring. Claudia used to—” he cleared his throat, “she used to say he was like the moon, waxing and waning over the course of a year instead of a month.” Rubbing at his chin, he leaned back again. “Personally, I always saw it as a little more technical. Stiles is like a battery. You’ve seen him in the summer, you said. Well, no _human_,” he squinted at Derek, “can keep that up forever. As he’s winding down in fall, it’s upsetting, hence the anxiety. Winter is his time to…recharge. He’s not really sad, just sensitive. I make sure he eats enough and doesn’t sleep too long. He still tries to self-regulate, he’s just a little low on resources, if you will, in the winter months. Just, go easy on him, and as the world wakes up, so will he.”

Suddenly, Derek was insatiably curious. “Sheriff, I’ve seen him in summer and fall, and now winter. I barely remember last spring. What’s he like then?”

He nearly jumped back when the sheriff just _laughed_, big guffaws that spoke of happy times. “Oh, you’ll see.”

—

Derek saw. He saw and heard and smelled and _felt_.

Spring was an entirely new beast, and possibly the one Derek found the hardest to cope with.

How had he forgotten that snark? That razor sharp wit and sarcasm accompanied by a smile?

“Sourwolf! Come play! Come on, boy!” Stiles teased from across the field. “I promise I’ll let you knock me down at least twice!”

An hour later, with Derek firmly on the sidelines, Stiles wandered back up to him with Scott, positively cackling and hanging on Scott’s arm. “Scott, that was amazing. Seriously, I’m kinda hot for you. Wanna make out? Just to check? Come ooonnn.”

Scott just blushed and shoved away. “Dude, you say that every year! I’m _not_ gonna make out with you!”

“Well, no one else will!” Stiles shouted. But it wasn’t the pained, annoyed version of the line Derek had overheard near Halloween. It was giddy and uncaring. The smile never left Stiles’ face.

As a senior and a legal adult, Stiles somehow managed to goad the entire pack into following him to _Jungle_, though the majority of them were straight, and in Erica and Lydia’s case, female. Inside the club, though, that didn’t seem to matter.

Derek could only trail behind the group, feeling out of place and trying to give off an air of “Guardian” rather than “Stalker.”

Stiles was positively _swarmed_, even worse, it was by people he seemed to know. Drag queens that called for him by name and men that Derek was almost positive were out of high school, all acting like they'd been partying with him for ages. They all crowded around him, greeting the pack with enthusiastic whistles and even a joking howl that made Derek side-eye one particular guy until he was _positive_ it’d been a coincidence.

On the dance floor, despite the name, Stiles didn’t dance. He _writhed_. He _prowled_. Whether it was Erica pressed up to his side or a stranger tugging his shirt closer to the middle of the throng, Stiles never stopped moving and laughing. He planted kiss after kiss on the Betas’ cheeks and foreheads without a single care and dragged them all into a kind of dance that should have been completely illegal.

To Derek’s horror, even this mood of Stiles’ was contagious. Derek wanted to join them, to dance with his Betas and feel the thrum of the music with his body instead of his ears. His face was flushed just from the thought of doing something as embarrassing as _dancing_. When was the last time he’d danced?

It was only by the skin of his teeth that Derek managed to keep himself back at the bar, foot and fingers tapping as ecstatically as Stiles’ normally did to the beat.

They went to _Jungle_ again and again in the spring. Celebrating everything from passing an exam to making it through a yellow light before it turned red. Stiles would get a look on his face and drape himself over the nearest pack member. Sometimes he poked and tickled them, sometimes he flirted heavily. Always, they agreed to go out, and Derek ended up back in the club, valiantly trying to keep himself at bay from the energy twining around his pack.

If Derek were more crude, he would describe Stiles in the spring as a wolf in heat. Everything was a flirt, kisses were shared like smiles, and Stiles never stopped touching _someone_. He laughed constantly, and Derek’s arguments with him nearly always ended with Stiles making an absolutely idiotic joke and caving happily to Derek’s idea.

It was simultaneously never easier to get along with Stiles, and never harder to keep himself in the same room. For the first year, Derek managed to avoid being the subject of Stiles’ touching and kissing and flirtations. At least, he was pretty sure he’d avoided the flirtations. It was a little hard to tell, since Stiles seemed to innately know how to flirt differently with every person.

It was heaven and hell, and Derek was almost relieved when the spring warmth melted into summer heat.

—

For four and a half years, Derek adjusted to what Scott called, “The Four Stiles’” One day, Scott ticked them off on his fingers for Derek. “Flirty Stiles, Hyper Stiles, Edgy Stiles, and Quiet Stiles. Learn ‘em, love ‘em, and never be bored again.”

Once the Betas and Stiles were out of high school, different seasons started to have different routines. College demanded more from Stiles during the fall, even though he was only at the other end of town, so rather than spending his time fuming during training, he went to the on-campus gym or just studied until he passed out. Derek was volunteered more often than he would’ve preferred to be the one to go check on him, rousing him from his sleep and listening to grumbles or berating until he’d fed and tucked Stiles in.

Winter was much harder, and again, Derek found himself ending up just sitting around Stiles’ claimed study room in the library, there to remind Stiles what he was supposed to be doing and keep him company so that he didn’t completely shut down at the prospect of being alone all day. Feeding him was a little more awkward of an affair, since Derek could only convince Stiles to eat while he was eating too, so they ended up going to a lot of cafes to get Derek something to nibble on.

Spring was positively _nerve-wracking_. No longer entirely surrounded by people he’d gone to school with since the first grade, dating in college was far easier for Stiles, and he didn’t spend all of his springs alone.

Oh, he still insisted on bringing the pack to _Jungle_ every damn week, but now Stiles brought _dates_. He never told them about the pack being werewolves, just introduced everyone, including Derek, as his friends, and dragged the lucky guy out to the floor.

There was a vast difference in Stiles’ dancing when he had a romantic partner. With his friends, he was lithe and giddy and excited. With his dates, Stiles was pure sex.

It was like everything about Flirty Stiles got more intense as it focused in on one person. His hands were everywhere and his mouth tended to follow. His hips were sin, and his clothing usually disappeared over the course of the night, leaving one of the pack in charge of hunting down Stiles’ undershirt, t-shirt, and overshirt before they could leave. He had a blast trying to explain to his dates why they could find his clothing in a crowded club.

Without a drop of alcohol needed, Stiles got drunk on people, his surroundings, pure life. He got loopy and his voice slurred, and as soon as his date took off into the night—they always took off, never allowed to go home with him—Stiles was passed around like a limp back of potatoes until he inevitably ended up in Derek’s arms needing to be carried to the car, and once again, tucked into bed.

Only now, Derek got to tuck Stiles into bed while he stank of arousal and happiness and fucking rainbows or something. He certainly wasn’t avoiding the touching now, or the flirting. Stiles’ exhausted hands roamed over Derek’s shoulders and down to his wrists, and occasionally, like he knew how much it killed Derek, to his face. He cupped Derek’s jaw and leaned up to press their foreheads together and hummed happily, then drooped to the pillows like he’d taken a sleeping pill, one hand still clutching at Derek’s wrist, surely able to feel his pounding heart.

“You know you don’t have to,” Scott said one night, as Derek returned to the car outside of Stiles’ place. His bike was in the shop, and he’d agreed to wait while Derek put Stiles to bed so he could get a ride.

Derek huffed as he climbed in, almost angry that he had to share this time with Scott. The warm, contented time that came just after one of those moments with Stiles. Where Derek’s skin tingled and he could smell Stiles’ happiness on _him_. “Don’t have to what?”

“Tuck him in, put him to bed, even take him home.” Scott was laying down in the backseat, sans seatbelt, his hands folded on his belly. “He didn’t drink. He’s not even as tired as he pretends. Stiles can take care of himself.”

“Then why does he hang on me like he’s drunk off his ass every time?” Derek sniped, pulling away toward Scott’s house. He still lived with his mom, just like Stiles still lived with his dad. At least, when they weren’t staying over at the pack house.

Scott didn’t answer for a while. Not even once they got to his place and he climbed out of the car. But, either he wanted to wait until he was out of the same space as Derek or he genuinely forgot how good Derek’s hearing was, because as soon as he got in the front door he muttered, “Because he likes when you take care of him, dumbass.”

Derek nearly broke his steering wheel in surprise, then drove home with his own answer revolving around his head.

_I like taking care of him too._

—

The spring of senior year for Stiles and the rest of the Betas, Derek reached his wits end far too quickly.

He’d learned to adapt to Stiles’ seasons, shoring up energy for summer, patience for fall, tenderness for winter, and fortitude for spring. So much fortitude for spring.

And yet. Every year, Stiles pushed him to his limits. This year, he pushed Derek to the end of his rope so fast that by mid-March, Derek had nowhere else to go.

This year, Stiles had forgone the dates for _Jungle_ night. From the smell of him, he’d forgone dates at all. Instead, he zeroed in on the most undeserving person in the vicinity.

Stiles wanted Derek to dance.

He always started off like he was going to leave Derek be, pulling Isaac or Jackson or Boyd away to “boogie” for a bit, while the others went off to get drinks or find their own dance partners. Derek always headed for his table, the one he’d essentially claimed every spring. It was against the far wall, but had a decent view of the bar and the dance floor so he could keep an eye on everyone without letting temptation pluck at him too much.

Within half an hour, Stiles was standing across from him, goading him.

“Come on Derek, Sourwolf, it’ll be fun! No one will even look at you funny. We’re all grown-ups now.”

Derek scowled as long as he could manage in the face of Stiles’ eagerness. “No. I don’t dance, Stiles.”

With a shrug, he wandered off, leaving Derek to chew the straw to his drink for a solid two minutes before he realized he was borrowing the bad habit from Stiles.

An hour after that, Stiles appeared again, one of his layers gone, but not forgotten, as it was tied into one of his belt loops. “Derek, _please_. I have danced with every _single _Beta. I’m out of partners!”

“Find someone else, then, it’s never stopped you before,” Derek said. He hoped it didn’t come out as bitter as he felt. He didn’t even have a reason to be bitter. It wasn't like he had some kind of claim on Stiles.

Stiles’ eyes darkened, and he spun around, disappearing into the crowd so thoroughly, Derek had to fight the urge to go looking for him for a good ten minutes.

“Come on, _Alpha_. Show me what you’re made of.”

The voice in his ear made Derek actually jump, and he nearly kicked his stool over in an attempt to stand up. Stiles had managed to come up at his side without him noticing.

He was missing another shirt, now hanging at the other hip like a pair of cloth pigtails for his waist. Down to a thin white undershirt, Derek could see that Stiles was sweating, fucking _glistening_ in the lights. For all that he had a terrible habit of falling asleep in the sun, Stiles never burned and never tanned, so his skin was still pale and mole speckled over his collarbones and arms.

Stiles smirked at him. “Better put those eyes away before someone notices, _Alpha_.”

Not thinking, Derek reached out for Stiles’ wrist and yanked him closer instead of pushing him away. “Stiles, knock it off. You’re—” Derek fought for something to say, “You’re just horny. Go find someone to rub on.”

He almost hoped Stiles would be offended enough to leave, to give Derek some space to calm down from the stupidly silky sound of Stiles calling him Alpha. It wasn’t as though Derek had a thing for the title, it was like saying President, or Lawyer, or Mister. The title didn’t matter.

What did matter was how Stiles made it sound like an invitation for sex.

It was almost a relief Stiles hadn’t used that voice when saying—

“_Derek_. Please.”

Helpless. Derek was completely helpless. His name in that voice had drained all ideas of escape from his brain. Only two options remained. Either he dragged Stiles away to a dark corner and did something that would probably get him kicked out of the club, or he danced.

Stiles’ hand was surprisingly cool in Derek’s as he was led to the center of the dance floor.

Thankfully for Derek’s dry tongue, talking was nigh impossible in this spot. The music was so loud Derek was worried for Stiles’ ears, and the smells around him were too much to bear, so Derek focused on the only seemingly safe sense. His sight.

Stiles was _quite_ the sight. He didn’t just dance against Derek’s plank-like form, no, he fitted their fingers together delicately and pulled Derek’s hands from side to side, almost childlike, until Derek understood what rhythm he was going for. Then, he shifted Derek’s hands down to his waist, and began to sway his hips to the same rhythm.

Twining one arm up around Derek’s neck, Stiles nearly made Derek choke when his other reached between them. At the last second, one of Stiles’ fingers hooked in the belt loop closest to Derek’s belt buckle, and he smiled at Derek. “Just leaving a little space for propriety.”

It didn’t feel like propriety when Stiles used that tiny bit of leverage to tug Derek in closer, letting his finger get crushed as their hips met and swayed together.

Derek didn’t blink, couldn’t fucking _breathe_. There weren’t even any voices in his head telling him what a mistake he was making. They were on vacation, or had possibly been forcibly booted from Derek’s conscience by Stiles’ _everything_.

He went where Stiles led him, leaning in, then away, then clinging to Stiles’ last remaining shirt as Stiles turned his back on Derek and slid down to his knees for a moment, just long enough to slip himself out of the apparently offensive piece of clothing. That left Stiles shirtless on the dance floor, rubbing himself up against Derek, who clutched the last shirt like a lifeline.

Just when Derek was sure he would die from the intimacy of Stiles’ nearly R-rated version of a hug, Stiles leaned his mouth right up to Derek’s ear, letting his lips brush the cartilage until Derek shuddered. “I don’t know if you noticed, but for the last few years my preference for people to rub on has had exactly one candidate.”

With a snarl that Derek had to bury in Stiles’ neck, Derek clamped his arms tight around Stiles’ bare skin, keeping those miles of heaven far away from any of the other dancers. He tipped his head back just far enough to mouth the word “Home” to Stiles.

Stiles nodded, then reached up and tapped at his temple, just beside his eyes. Startling, Derek blinked and force down his shift. He hadn’t even noticed.

—

Derek was supposed to be the predator, but he felt like prey under Stiles’ gaze once they reached the silent pack house. Everyone else was still at the club, and Boyd had the keys to Derek’s car to take the others home. He’d made the trip back in Stiles’ Jeep, thinking way too hard about way too many things.

Now though, Derek’s mind was blank. It didn’t quite make sense. He was supposed to be the aggressive one, the werewolf with a temper, but instead Stiles was the one to lean into him, to press his still bare chest to Derek thin shirt and smile like he was about to bare hidden fangs.

“Is it cliche if I say, ‘_Finally_?’” Stiles asked.

Derek wasn’t sure if he managed to respond. He was too busy testing the feeling of his hands on Stiles’ smooth, still hot skin. As his fingers ran over the tiny bumps of Stiles’ ribs, he whispered, “Tell me this isn’t just because it’s spring.”

If this were Hyper Stiles, Derek would be missing most of his clothing already, he was sure. Edgy Stiles probably would have punched Derek for the implication or just dragged him into a biting kiss. If it were Quiet Stiles, he’d have curled in for a hug and the night would be over before it started.

But Flirty Stiles threw his head back and laughed, baring his throat in the shadows of the house and digging his fingers into Derek’s hair as Derek leaned forward for just a taste of that pale skin. “Spring, summer, fall or winter, I always want you, Derek. It’s just a little easier to get your attention this time of year.”

“You always have my attention,” Derek mumbled. One taste had turned into a feast of nips and kisses and laves of his tongue over the thick muscle of Stiles’ shoulder. He smelled like spun sugar, and if Derek closed his eyes, he tasted like it too.

“_Oh_,” Stiles groaned. Then, again. “Oh…really?”

Derek led Stiles backwards, over to the stairs. “Really.” He hiked Stiles up onto his hips and carried him up the flight, then forgot to put him down again as he headed toward the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. “Every single season of you drives me insane. Your sincerity in summer, how protective you are of us in fall. The way you lean on me in winter. And spring…spring brings out the animal in you and I can’t _stand_ it.”

As if to prove his point, Stiles keened and shut Derek up with a kiss that set Derek's nerves on fire, while his legs shoved their way to the floor of the room so he could get his hands on Derek’s pants without any obstructions. “If you’d only just _danced_ with me,” he growled, yanking the button of Derek’s jeans free. “We could have been doing this ages ago.”

“No,” Derek moaned, helping Stiles divest him of clothing by pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for Stiles’ pants as well. “We couldn’t. I needed to know you, every one of you. I know them now.”

Stiles kicked his way out of his pants and tossed them to the side before kneeling in front of Derek and pulling his jeans and underwear over his hips with sharp tugs. “You knew from the start. You always knew what I needed.”

Not feeling even the slightest chill, though the window was open and he was naked, Derek looked down at where Stiles was staring at his cock, eyes bright with excitement. “Wolves have always known the moon.”

Stiles’ mouth stifled anything else Derek could have thought to say by licking soft and slow over Derek’s cock, then taking him in and sucking him down. It was a feat to stay still, not to bend over double at the sensation or push hard into Stiles’ mouth. Even how Stiles had sex was affected by his season. This give and take was playful, silly almost, with kitten licks and humming around Derek’s length, and a pleased contentedness even when Derek dragged him off and pulled his body up for a kiss.

Derek crowded Stiles’ into the bed and found himself smiling just as widely as Stiles, tossing a pillow at him for tucking under his hips. Stiles thwapped him with it once before obeying, and immediately linked his fingers with Derek’s when Derek leaned over him, even if it only lasted long enough for Derek to peck at the tip of his nose.

Stiles giggled and moaned and joked all the way through Derek’s preparation of him, calling him Sourwolf and Alpha in turn with both joking and sensuous tones. By the time Derek was pressing slow and sure inside him, they were both breathless from laughter rather than sex. But Stiles’ mood shifted like the tide, rolling toward intense arousal with careless moans and easy sighs. He pulled Derek in, deeper and deeper, until Derek could hardly breathe they were so close.

“Every season of you is beautiful, Stiles,” Derek whispered, pushing harder and faster as the tension in him coiled.

Stiles nodded and bit at his lip for a second before bursting, “And every season of me wants you, Derek.”

They’d barely had the chance to come down before Stiles was tickling at Derek’s sides, squirming in the sheets. He only settled when the moon rose, not quite full, but bright as a coin in the sky. They curled together under the blankets, and Derek fell asleep with his back to the window, still staring at his moon.

**Author's Note:**

> Eish, with the schmoopy writing at the end. I mean, it's mostly what I was going for and I wouldn't change it for the world, but still, makes me all squinty.
> 
> Anyway, what'd'y'all think? It's quite the mood piece, if I do say so myself.
> 
> Much thanks to my lovely beta [Madeline](https://pan-buck.tumblr.com) for sifting through it and correcting all my mistakes. If you wanna see more of my work, please subscribe to my account, or, come follow me on [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) where I'm obsessed with these two dumbass characters 24/7. Much love!


End file.
